Ghost Of You
by nericearren
Summary: Some days, you just can't stay dead-WallArt story, set after Invasion.


_And I remember when I met him it was so clear that he was the only one for me. We both knew it right away. And as the years went on, things got more difficult we were faced with more challenges. I begged him to stay. Try to remember what we had in the beginning. He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew him. When he walked in ever women's head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him. He was like this hybrid this mix of a man who couldn't contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him. In that way, I understood him. And I loved him, I loved him, I loved him. And I still love him, I love him. _

It was her third-maybe her fourth-drink. Artemis Crock wouldn't say that she was known for her vices, but her friends, more often then not, begged to differ. She downed the shot like it was going to give her life again, and for a split second as I saw her, with her vodka glass in one hand and her slowly dwindling cigarette in the other, I saw every part of her; all the raw, broken, and bleeding parts that she was trying to convince everyone were healed.

I took the glass away from her, the cig, too, for good measure. "Artemis, you're going to kill yourself." Perhaps not the best of words. Artemis gave me a long look, full of everything that I knew neither of us should feel. "Maybe I want to." she slurred, her voice even huskier than usual, low and intimate and making me wish I could take a shot myself.

"Well, I don't want that." I said, trying to be brisk. "So quit talking nonsense."

"What're you, my granma?"she mumbled, but she rolled over onto her side without further comment, and fell asleep. Looking at her, I sighed. She was half-dressed in a tank top and some baggy jeans, rolled up at the cuffs, the edges of a swirly, intricate, tattoo of Vietnamese characters peeking out from under the hem of her shirt as she sleepily stretched out and rolled onto her stomach. The remains of makeup on her face made it no less beautiful, though her eyeliner was smudged down to her cheekbones and almost all of her foundation had worn off. I thought she was beautiful, anyway. The rim of the glass I was holding was marked with her pink lipstick, and my heart ached. This was the first time she'd worn lipstick-and probably any makeup at all-since Wally. I knew it had to be so. No wonder she was in such a state when I went to her.

I covered her up with an old blanket, and left her and the dog to sleep, hopefully oblivious for the next few hours. I kissed her forehead before I went, but she didn't wake up. "Idiot." I whispered in her ear. "I could be a mad rapist. You really are out of shape."

She didn't so much as twitch.

"Well, come on?! Tell me!" I'm dying of impatience as Dick-sorry, Nightwing-exits Artemis's apartment. I can't tell him how much it kills me that he can go in, take care of her, wipe away her tears(selfish of me, but I hope there are at least a few tears), and I have to wait outside in the cold.

"Tell you what?" Nightwing looks bored, but of course he knows what my beef is. I should be mad at him-and I am-but I want to hear about Artemis more. Nightwing sighs, looking as though the whole world is on his shoulders. He can't see that it isn't, that the only person who demands too much of him is himself. The bags under his eyes testament to just how much that demand is. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his dark green jacket and buries his nose into the zippered collar. "What do you want me to tell you?" he asks, his voice muffled. He's beating around the bush.

"Everything!" My answer comes out louder than I intend, and I lower the arms that I threw up for emphasis and look around suspiciously. I hope no one heard, but just in case, we start walking down the street, our breaths fogging up the cold air. "How is she?" I go on, quieter now. "Is she eating? Is she thin? Is she sad? Does she look like she's OK? Does she act like she's OK? Does she miss me? Is she going back to her classes, now? She knows she'll fail if she doesn't; tell her that, tell her she can't fail, she's smart enough to pass, tell her I'd have wanted her to get on with her life-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down." Nightwing holds up his hands defensively. "I can't process all of that, dude. Repeat it again, more slowly. Remember," he grins suddenly in ill humor. "You have all the time in the world."

I scowl at him. "Not cool, man. Getting me killed was bad enough. Now you want to torture me with bad jokes?"

Nightwing sighs, again. "I told you a million times. It wasn't my fault you got killed."

"It was your fault that Artemis was there."

"No one said you had to be, too."

"It was the fate of the fricking world! Of _course_ I would be there! And besides, Artemis and I are kind of a package deal."

"Were." he reminds me, and I scowl again, crossing my arms. "Look, just find a way to get me back, and we'll be even."

He's silent, watching the path ahead of him, kicking a stone and twisting his face around like he doesn't know what to say, which is probably true. There's just as good a chance that I'll die again tomorrow as him finding a way to stabilize me.

"She's doing fine, considering the circumstances." Nightwing says eventually. "Unlike _you_, she's forgiven me for the whole fiasco. She's . . . eating, provided that someone's there to remind her-she's been working a lot on her book. M'Gann usually prods her through their mental link. She's gotten a little thin, but just because she's been working out at the gym. She wants to keep in shape so she can be part of the reserve crew again." he pauses. "Of course she's sad." he conveniently doesn't dwell on that for long. "She doesn't act . . . I mean, she's started drinking again-"

I groan. "Oh, Artemis . . ."

"But otherwise, she acts fine. Nobody around her suspects anything, unless they're a Martian mindreader." Nightwing goes on. "And, yes, she went back to class today-not that she paid attention to a single blessed thing. But she went, and a classmate is coming over tomorrow to tutor her on the stuff she missed."

"Awesome." I breath a sigh of relief. I can't go near Artemis, not without risking sucking her into the void that has become me, can't hold her or even speak to her, but at least I can know that she's OK. She has friends looking out for her. "Whoop. Better get back-I think my time's up." I arch an eyebrow at Dick. "Though I wouldn't mind taking you with me."

"And have her lose another of her best friends? I don't think so." Nightwing steps smartly back, just as the SF gets the better of me. It's with me all the time, tugging at my feet, telling me to go faster, go farther, and I can only be apart from it for so long before I feel it call. One day, I know I won't be able to leave at all, and that will be that. I'll be just a blip of energy, a strange impulse, on a radar, and then I'll be gone. Until then, however, I salute Dick and disappear, leaving him to continue his solitary journey to the zeta tube, his shoulders hunched under his imaginary burden.

Sometimes I think he has it the hardest of all.

Being in the Speed Force isn't so bad, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm all alone. Well-not alone, exactly. There are voices, all the time, the shadows of beings like me who've been sucked in, but never any faces. Snippets of stories, flashes of loved ones, but never names or faces. One day, I suppose I'll be just another ghostly echo, maybe just an image of a blond ponytail, a head on the pillow next to me- "Good morning, slowpoke." her teasing, her smell, her voice. I think I wouldn't mind that, so much, if the only thing left of me on earth was a memory of my time with Artemis.

Some days, it's falling into madness,being in the Force. I don't-I can't-come out for days, weeks, on end, and I know that that worries Dick. He wants to find a way to separate me from the Force, but I'm not even sure that's possible. I try to help him, with my limited knowledge, but both of us are scrambling around in the dark, and I know deep down that it's not going to work. The solution, I hate to admit, won't come from science, because what we're dealing with is older than science. It defies reality, logic, everything. Maybe I should just give up now, but as long as I can see Artemis, even if it's just through the kitchen window, I'll fight.

I love her that much.


End file.
